


Bran

by sondrawr



Series: Mercyverse Alphabet Series [1]
Category: Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Canon - Book, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Father-Daughter Relationship, Pack, Pre-Canon, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 02:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14439777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sondrawr/pseuds/sondrawr
Summary: "Bran knew Mercy well--had held her as a babe, had fostered her in his pack, walked her down the aisle on her wedding day. He knew what would wound that indomitable spirit the deepest." Bran muses on a troublesome coyote girl; takes place during Firetouched. Part of Mercyverse Alphabet Series. Updates as inspiration strikes.





	Bran

It had taken Bran Cornick about ten minutes after _it_ started to hear about the troll’s rampage from various sources. He had live video footage streamed to his personal laptop of the events, so he hadn’t had to wait for local and national news broadcasts. There were benefits to being the Marrock.

He watched in stunned silence as Mercy Thompson--Hauptman, he had to remind himself--raised the fae staff in the air, glowing with power, and made her hasty yet eloquent declaration. _“By my word as Coyote’s daughter and bearer of Lugh’s walking stick, I so swear!”_ A fierce pride tightened in his chest, even as his mind churned the repercussions of what she had said.

Behind him, he heard his son Charles snort softly. “Coyote’s daughter indeed.” He knew what Mercy’s words evinced, even if she herself did not.

Bran didn’t hear from Mercy or Adam for another couple hours, at least. He knew that the Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack had been wounded--he had seen the black wolf lying prone behind Mercy during her speech--but he felt like he was being pointedly ignored, which made him more than a little irritated when he tried calling Adam on Skype.

Finally, his call was answered by Mercy. Not surprising. Her face was pinched in anger, and it was obvious she and her husband, who Bran could see sitting behind her, had been fighting. He almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

She had been talking rapidly. “Mer--” he tried to interrupt but was cut off. The screen was blank. “I cannot believe she hung up on me,” he said softly. He could feel his Beast coming to the surface. Charles could sense it too and took control of the computer.

After a few minutes Charles was able to override the Hauptmans’ computer security and directly connect to it. Apparently the couple were finishing up their quarrel.

His temper suffered a bit through the arduous conversation. Mercy stared at him in wide-eyed, self-proclaimed innocence like she used to do when he would discipline her as a child twenty years ago or more. She was all sincerity and impassioned speech. Adam, Bran was certain, knew exactly what the fallout of Mercy’s declaration would be, but despite his practical nature was still an idealist, and he backed his wife’s words.

Bran sighed. He no longer felt angry… just tired. “You know what this means,” he told Adam. He parsed the situation as thoroughly as he could. He gave them warning. In the end he was the Marrok of the werewolves, and not the humans. There were limits to his power--to the safety he could provide as Alpha of Alphas.

Adam nodded gravely. “I do.”

Mercy blinked at them, confused. She didn’t have the strategist mentality that was hard won through decades--in Bran’s case, centuries--of protecting one’s pack.

“I repudiate you and your pack. You are sundered from me and mine.” Bran felt the pack bonds that tied him to Adam and the Columbia Basin Pack shudder and shatter like ice. He could feel the pain that it caused, the disruption that reverberated throughout the rest of the Alphas under his command. He grimaced--he would be fielding calls about this for the rest of the night.

Then he caught Mercy’s stricken gaze. She hadn’t known what he was about to do; couldn’t know and didn’t prepare for it like Adam had. Charles cut the connection before any words could be spoken.

Bran hung his head, resting his fingers lightly on the keyboard. “She’s going to think I abandoned her--again. I almost said sorry.”

“Adam will set her straight,” said Charles. “He knows as well as we do that declaring them a rogue pack was the only way to prevent all out war with the fae.”

“She knows it, but she won’t _feel_ it,” Bran answered. He knew her well--had held her as a babe, had fostered her in his pack, walked her down the aisle on her wedding day. He knew what would wound that indomitable spirit the deepest.

Mercy had been abandoned so often in her short life. She was left among strangers by her teenage mother as an infant and deserted by death and suicide by her foster parents at the age of fourteen. She had thought she finally found a place to belong with his oldest son Samuel, but Bran had harshly disabused her of any fantastical notions she might have had of love with that particular wolf. Then he put her on a bus back to her mother, who she found out had had another family who knew nothing about their not-quite-human sister. Lessons learned, Mercy adopted independence as a shield and defiance as a weapon. Be alone and you can’t be abandoned.

It was only recently, with the help of Adam, that Mercy’s defenses began lowering. She had adopted his family, his pack, as hers; and every one of them were kinks in the armor. Bran was loath to see that progress, that blossoming, halted because of anything he caused. He may be the Marrok, but Mercy was the daughter of his heart, if not his body.

A few years ago, in another altercation with the fae, Samuel told a Gray Lord that the Marrok would go to war with the fae for Mercy--damn the consequences. Samuel had told him that tears actually pooled in her eyes at the words, and Bran wondered had he never told her? Tragically, the political landscape had changed so drastically in those short years since his son made claim that he wasn’t sure now if it was completely true. Still, Bran felt that bone-deep desire to protect his little coyote. _She’s ours,_ his wolf told him. _Ours to keep and protect._

Ignoring the messages filling up his inboxes, he searched his files and produced a small card, its corners creased with age. He called the number printed on it. Someone answered the second ring and spoke before he did.

“Bran ap Daffyd,” purred the voice on the other line. “It is always a pleasure to speak with one who did me such great a service.”

“I did not kill my mother for you,” he said, his worry making him short.

“She was getting too ambitious,” answered the voice dismissively. “Something would have been done. And fae are so careful of witches. It would have fallen to me, I am certain.”

“Do you consider it a favor?”

A cackling laugh sounded in his ear. “You would seek a repayment of a favor from me? I thought you wiser than that, Marrok.”

Bran smiled despite himself. “No favors between us. I just thought you might want to look in on Coyote’s daughter. She finds herself in an interesting situation.”

“Interesting enough for me to leave Russia?”

“Mercy’s life is so interesting, her father left the Spirit World to watch.”

The laugh was louder and merrier than before. “That is quite an enticement. Perhaps I will look in on her.” The line hung up abruptly.

Bran sat back in his chair rubbing his weary eyes. It was a small thing, really, but more he couldn’t do. There were limits to his power… but fortunately, there were other powers who were far less scrupulous than he.

_Stay alive, my little coyote girl. Help is on its way._

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfic is the first of a (hopefully) 26-part Mercyverse Alphabet Series. Bran stands, obviously, for B. Only 25 more to go.


End file.
